


all our memories, they're haunted

by kay_emm_gee



Series: red strings and wordless looks (teen wolf prompts) [9]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 23:49:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7661953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_emm_gee/pseuds/kay_emm_gee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia is angry because good things blink in and then out of her life before she can even make them out clearly. Remembering the past few months feels like looking through fogged-over glass to her: blurred outlines of entwined bodies and coy smiles, linked hands and a pattern of freckles she knows better than some math equations. The Hunt hasn’t even taken Stiles yet, and he is already fading away.</p>
<p>{ Prompt: 'Could you pretty please write a stydia au for "you'll forget me, I won't" thank you thank you thank you' }</p>
            </blockquote>





	all our memories, they're haunted

It’s happening again, and Lydia wants to scream. Not because anyone is dying–not yet anyways–but because she is _angry._

She is angry when she feels the acorn-shaped burn pressed into Stiles’ palm scrape against her still disbelieving fingertips.

She is angry at how he can’t look at her anymore, just stares everywhere else without focus, leg bouncing and hand twitching and breaths coming a little too fast. 

She is angry when she hears Scott talking about how they will get Stiles back no matter what (he hasn’t even been _taken_  yet but it is a forgone conclusion apparently). They shouldn’t be thinking of how to get him _back_ ; they should be thinking of how to _keep_ him. So she’s angry.

Lydia is angry because good things blink in and then out of her life before she can even make them out clearly. Remembering the past few months feels like looking through fogged-over glass to her: blurred outlines of entwined bodies and coy smiles, linked hands and a pattern of freckles she knows better than some math equations. The Hunt hasn’t even taken Stiles yet, and he is already fading away. She knows his name and the sound of his laugh and how she can be annoyed as hell at him but still want to go home with him at the end of the day. She also knows he could slip away any minute. 

So she is angry, and she is so busy being angry, that Stiles catches her off-guard one night when they are trying to track the Hunt. In the dark, he just stops, fingers drumming nervously against his thigh, and for the first time in a while looks her right in the eye. Lydia feels a burning kind of cold pool in her gut, because she finally knows that the raw and jagged fear in his eyes is the reason Stiles hasn’t been looking at her.

His voice breaks as he says, “After they take me–”

“They won’t,” she growls. Lydia grips his arm tightly. She is his anchor, after all, isn’t she? She is going to be dead weight around him, on him, hanging so heavy that the Hunt will have to let him go. “We won’t let them.”

“Lydia.” It is a tired noise, her name, and unbelievably sad. The resignation in it breaks her, and she moves in closer, rubbing her palm up his shoulder to cup his jaw.

“What?”

“You’ll forget me.”

“I won’t.” 

She murmurs those words over and over and  _overandoverandoverandover_ as she steps into his chest, buries her nose there, and breathes him in. Immediately Stiles’ arms go around her, comforting in a way that makes her eyes burn with hot tears (she should be comforting _him_ ). Lydia feels him tremble, finally crumbling under the weight of his fate, and she realizes that somehow her already fractured-and-glued-back-together heart still had pieces capable of breaking.


End file.
